Thrice A Lawfully Wedded Wife
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: I wanted to write a fic detailing Katniss embarking on marriages with all three of her potential District 12 love interests. Rather than start from scratch, I took halves from both Repaired, Whole and Healed as well as An Odyssey of Love and Marriage, put them together, and then rewrote the climax of Katniss and Darius's romantic relationship to maintain continuity. Please, enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: A Bowl of Soup

**Chapter 1: A Bowl of Soup**

I rise before the sun. I am still getting used to my schedule as head of the household. I can't believe it has only been a week.

A week since my life as I knew it was torn apart forever.

It was a week ago that my father, Kirkman Everdeen, finally succumbed to black lung disease. The very air he breathed - air from the mines that he worked in all his life - poisoned him. The funeral was three days ago. I, as the eldest at 16, was tasked with the responsibility of accepting my father's old uniform, his helmet and a medal from the Mayor. My mother rode through the ceremony with hollow, blank eyes, their brilliant Merchant blue dimmed. Primrose, my little sister at 12, held our baby brother Aven. Aven's only two, a baby that wasn't planned by either of my parents. But they were overjoyed to have a son after raising two daughters. Even if the prospect of having three young mouths to feed was daunting, almost impossible on a combined miner and Healer's wages.

Since coming home from the funeral Wednesday afternoon, Mother has taken to her bed and refused to see anyone. The knocks I have laid to her door go unanswered, the plates of food I prepare and leave by her threshold untouched. When Primrose meekly suggested yesterday that Mother has lost the will to live, I barked at her to take Aven outside and play.

Mother cannot die, no matter how much she might want to - if Prim's theory is right. It would be a selfish, selfish thing for her to do, leaving all three of her children to the cruel whims of the Community Home. The Community Home is where all orphans under the age of 18 go before being cast out into the street to make their own way. If the Hunger Games doesn't snatch them first - your chances of being picked from the Reaping Bowl spike if you are an orphan. I refuse to let that fate be any more likely for Prim than it has to be, or Aven when he comes of age.

Dressed in my gear, I slip out of my house and into the graying light. Bundles of cloth are in danger of tumbling from my arms but I keep a firm grip on them. This is the last of Prim's old baby clothes, which I have been taking into the Hob for the last seven days to sell. Some days I have turned a profit. Others not. I hope to be rid of the rest of it by sundown.

After that... I am not sure how we will eat. All transactions in District 12 require money, except for in the Hob, where you can barter. I don't know a trade... except for hunting. Tomorrow, I will have to brave beyond the fence, take up my father's bow and go hunting for food.

I arrive at the Hob - the black market of the district. The first several vendors are opening up their stalls. I spy Greasy Sae, the toothless grandmother, setting up her stand, and mosey on over. If I can start off by bartering away some of these clothes, I could get a hot breakfast in me for strength to pawn off the rest.

But Sae only gives me an apologetic smile when I try and sell her Prim's old baby bonnet. "Sorry, girl child. I've got no use for youngin's clothes here."

"At least for a bowl of broth?" and I try to keep the pleading out of my voice. It won't do to beg. District 12 has a hostility for beggars. The morning after my father's death, I tried to go to my uncle - my mother's brother - for help. He's the Merchant apothecary in Town. He turned me away angrily, as if he didn't know me. Like I am dead to him. And I probably am; I certainly looked the part. Mother has been estranged from her side of the family for years, every since she flouted tradition and married my Seam father.

Greasy Sae frowns. "I'm sorry, girlie, but I..." I hear boots scuff up to a halt in front of her stand, and I wince. A flash of white glints off the dapples of early morning sunlight. Peacekeepers. They patrol through this market, even though its very existence is supposed to be illegal. But our Head Peacekeeper, Cray, is so laxadaisical, that plausible deniability rules the day and most illegal dealings are allowed to slide. Heck, some cadets even purchase the wares on display here.

"Here, Sae, I'll pay for her." I turn to protest, to say that I am not a charity case, but my mouth goes dry. My tongue falters.

The Peacekeeper cadet before me is young. Handsome, with long red locks that flow down to his shoulders in waves. A muscular chest that bulges up against the white plates of his uniform. A chiseled jaw. But what strikes me the most about him are his eyes... eyes as green as a summer sea... Their teal shade now observe me kindly as Sae fills two bowls and passes them over. Money changes hands with a smile from the Peacekeeper. His teeth gleam white. He has a nice smile.

Good thing I had dumped the baby clothes on the counter, for the cadet now nudges one bowl into my hands. I struggle to get a grip on it; the warmth nearly burns my fingers. Those blue eyes now narrow at me.

"Say, aren't you the girl whose daddy died in the mines early this week?"

I want to run. Hide in shame. Not just for accepting an act of mercy blindly and betraying my pride, but for also being forever associated with a day that rained fire and smoke. For being the daughter of a failed, dead miner. But my feet stay rooted to the gray, pebbled earth. Wordlessly, numbly, I nod. His grin widens, but curves with clear sympathy.

"I thought so. Your mama's the Healer here. You look just like her."

I gape a little. No one has ever complimented me like that. I much more favor my father. Prim takes after our mother. But even if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't agree. My mother is still a real beauty, and I have never thought myself beautiful. Small breasts. Largely skin and bones. All the same, I feel heat rise to my cheeks, and it isn't from the steam of the soup. "Th...thank you," I mumble. Turning my head, I set the bowl down, and fumble around the pile of baby clothes. I must look like an idiot, and I ignore Greasy Sae's smirk in amusement. "What do I owe you?"

He holds up a hand. "No, ma'am, there ain't no charge. But..." And he grins shyly, giving the single braid running down my back a flick. "If you can think of a fair trade, I'd be glad to accept the transaction. How 'bout a kiss for luck?"

I gawp at him, and he laughs. "Relax, I'm just kidding!" He drops his head and voice low, close to mine. "But in all sincerity: my condolences to you and your family, Ms..."

"Oh. Ummm..." I croak, and my brain has strangely gone blank. Name. He asked me my name. "Uh... Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen."

"Good day to you, Ms. Everdeen," the cadet smiles.

"Thank you," I strangle out, flushing with shame at the prospect of now owing this Peacekeeper for the rest of my days. I never say thank you unless I absolutely have to, and even then I don't like it. Those two little words just mean you are indebted to someone. I manage a good look at his name-tag and tack on at the end, "Peacekeeper Freeman."

He nods once, and flashes that brilliant smile. "I hope to see you again, miss."

"S... sure," I stammer and he ambles away. Still a little dazed, I say goodbye to Sae and begin to make my rounds. Hearteningly, every last scrap of clothing is sold off, the coins jangling in my pocket. I have enough to buy some meat for Aven and Prim, then save the rest.

I don't tell my little sister about my run in with the friendly Peacekeeper when I get home that night. She will just start imagining things.


	2. Chapter 2: Eyes Like the Sea Before a St

**Chapter 2: Eyes Like the Sea Before a Storm**

I see Darius every day for the next two weeks coming into the Hob. This time, I bear gifts of dead animal flesh instead of fabric, shot cleaner and cleaner each time. They are still small for now - rabbits and squirrels and opossum - because you never know when you see a Peacekeeper how much they are committed to the rules or not. I don't even know how deep Darius's loyalties run, until a week after we meet, he sees me trading hare with the Goat Man. He just laughs at my frozen expression and says, "My lips are sealed. But better tighten them with a kiss just to be sure, yeah, Katniss?"

He has asked me for a peck every day since he bought me soup at Sae's. And though I decline, as I have every day, I grant him with a smile instead.

Near the end of the second week, he asks to walk me home. I am too speechless to say No, so I just nod my head. I don't know what else to say.

But while I have been improving my hunting and even more improbably making friends, Mother's condition has been getting worse and worse. She's finally admitted me into her room to take meals, but they are sparse repasts; she eats only a little at a time. Sometimes, she'll skip a meal entirely. Her Merchant curves, once so voluptuous and envied by me, have become gaunt and thin. Dangerously thin. And she has yet to move from her bed. I'm beginning to worry about her circulation. How could I reasonably get her up and exercising? Better yet, how can I convince her to work again? Most widows in Twelve are allowed a month-long mourning period, but that month is already halfway up. And the reparations from the mining company - funded by the Capitol government - for Daddy's death are meager. I'll run out of that coin soon, maybe in the next three days or four. I have no clue where I can get coin after that... and I don't want to think of the options left available to me.

These thoughts are driven from my head when I hear a knock at the door. Prim is on the floor playing with Aven, so I go to answer it.

I see Peacekeeper white standing in the doorway and the world shifts. My heart pounds. My chest feels tight. My vision blurs. I need to get out of here!

"Katniss, it's okay," a warm, familiar voice says. "It's me. Darius."

I stop searching for an escape and blink, shifting the world back into focus. The voice was right, it is Darius. He's dressed in his Peacekeeper's uniform, his white gloved hands outstretched as if to calm me.

"Peacekeeper Freeman." I try to keep my voice even but I'm not entirely successful. "What can I do for you?"

The man takes a step back to give me more space. "No need to be so formal," he says, an easy smile crossing his lips. "It's Darius. I start to shake in terror any time I hear Peacekeeper Freeman. Makes me think my boss is about to chew me out." The smile becomes warmer, more hopeful. "Can I come in?"

I step to one side, noticing Prim, with Aven in her arms, hovering in the background.

Darius turns his head, taking in the main room. "You've got a lovely home, Katniss."

No one's ever said that before. Probably because it's not true. Our home is just like any other Seam home: small, dark, and full of things we made ourselves. "Thank you?" I say, uncertain.

"No, really, I mean it." He shifts, his eyes lingering on the few family pictures we have displayed. "It's nice. Homey. Nothing like the quarters we Peacekeepers get."

"What are your quarters like?" Prim's voice is curious.

"Well, imagine a room about this size," he motions to the main room, "but with gray and white flecked tile floors and all white walls. Everything's white. The ceiling, the floor, and everything in between. White dresser, white bed, white chair, white table. Even the toilet's white."

My sister makes a face. "You mean there's no color?"

"Yup!"

"Sounds…" I struggle for a word. Boring would be unkind. "...clean?"

Darius laughs. "I think the word you're looking for is boring." His voice shifts, becomes warmer. "I could put in for a house, I've got enough seniority, but I don't really see a point without someone to go home to."

I wonder why he's telling me this.

My confusion must show on my face, because he waves it away. "Oh, don't mind me, Katniss. That's not why I'm here anyway."

"Why are you here?" Prim speaks up before I can.

"I wanted to see how your sister's doing."

Aven fusses to be put down and Prim complies. My brother quickly toddles to one of his few toys and starts playing with it.

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine. Thank you for escorting me home the other day after I got sick on the way to the Hob. I'm guessing that flu just came on me out of nowhere."

Darius's gaze flicks to Prim and Aven, then back to me, understanding and respect dawning in his eyes. "I'm just glad I found you before anything bad happened."

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he continues, "In fact, I got something for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah." From the pouch on his back, he pulls out a soft package wrapped in brown paper and string. "For you. I saw it yesterday and I thought of you."

I take it hesitantly. With Prim here, there's no way I can turn it down. Not without prompting a slew of questions I'm unable and unwilling to answer. I open it to reveal a soft gray knitted shawl. It's pretty, but it's also useful. Darius must have noticed my coat doesn't fit correctly and got this as a substitute. It doesn't really matter. I can't refuse his gift even if I want to, which part of me, to my surprise, doesn't. We need winter clothing. I need winter clothing. Most of what I have is too small, threadbare, or both. I look up at him, gratitude in my eyes. "Thank you. This was kind of you."

"It's nothing, Katniss. I'm happy you like it." His sea green eyes twinkle with pleasure. He turns to Prim. "If it's okay with you, do you mind if I steal your sister for a little while?"

"Um… Sure?" Prim regards him in confusion. "Don't know why you're asking me, but okay."

"Thanks. If it's alright with you, Katniss?"

There's something in his stance. Like he's nervous. Grabbing my coat and new shawl, I instruct Prim, "Make sure Aven eats. And try to leave me some bread."

"But it's good!" she protests.

"I know. That's why I want some of it."

She pouts a little before saying, "Fine."

He motions me through the door. The air outside is still bitterly cold and I'm grateful for Darius's gift. Even though it's just one more thing that I owe him for.

"So… what'd you want to talk about?" I ask once I'm sure we're out of earshot.

"I wanted to ask you how your family is doing. Specifically, your mother."

I freeze. Here we go. I knew that the period of mourning story would only work for so long. I've already had to turn Panem knows how many patients away from our door with the explanation that she has taken ill. Which is the truth. But how long will that last? If what I think Darius is about to tell me is right, not much longer. The Capitol needs her Healing expertise. They need her to go back to work – even if a majority of her workload is cleaning up the messes they make. Most cases my Mother treats involve beatings at the hands of Cray's more rabid men. Whippings at the whipping post. Scarred wrists from days in the stocks.

I gulp. I decide to play on our burgeoning friendliness and tell him the truth. "She's been really sick lately. Prim and I are hoping to get her back on her feet soon. I know she is eager, too." That last little bit is a lie – Mother doesn't seem eager to do much of anything. "She'll get back to work, I promise…."

"Katniss." I feel Darius's soft finger press into my lips. The motion silences me, strikes me dumb. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not demanding that your mother return to work to meet her quota. Not all Peacekeepers are like that." His voice becomes soft, vulnerable. "In fact, most of us aren't. We're just doing a job, like anyone else. Trying to save up money to have a family."

I look at him in confusion. "I thought-" I stop, not willing to complete the sentence.

Darius finishes it for me. "You thought Peacekeepers don't have families. I'm not surprised." He lets out a deep breath and rubs his arms. "We're not allowed to get married until after our tour of duty is over and we're sent back to Two."

I tilt my head. "Why Two?"

"Because most of us are from Two... or the Capitol," he answers, "but not all of us. The Capitol likes to fill up the ranks with orphans from other districts. Kids under the age of eight are tested, and if they pass, they get sent to Two for further training. They pretty much remove all traces of who we were, even our names get changed. All the orphans end up with the last name Freeman."

I'm not sure why he's telling me this, but there's only one reason that makes any sense. "Did that happen to you?"

Darius nods, blowing into his hands again. "I'm from Four, originally. It's why I hate the cold." He flashes a quick grin at me. "It's a lot warmer down there."

I nod even though all I know about Four is what I've seen on the Games or learned about in school. Which is to say, not much.

"My parents were killed when their boat sank during a storm," Darius continues. "Me and my brother and sisters all got sent to the Community Home. The older ones ended up in the Career Camp, but I was the youngest. So I got sent to Two to become a Peacekeeper." He sighs. "I do my best to keep track of them."

"How?" I would think the Capitol wouldn't allow that.

He blushes a little. "I'm not supposed to admit it, but my brother might have won one of the Hunger Games."

The only male Victor from Four I can think of is Finnick Odair. But that can't be right. I stare at Darius, looking for similarities. The resemblance starts to solidify. They have the same sea green eyes.

Those eyes crinkle in amusement. "I see you've figured it out. I promise I'm not the playboy my brother is."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know. I thought you could use a friend." He looks down. "I could." Darius looks over at me. "So, I was wondering if a friend could share a bowl of soup with you? No pressure."

I don't know what to say. He looks so hopeful. So open.

But he's a Peacekeeper. The enemy.

I take in his expression again and think back on what he just revealed to me. Maybe he's not the enemy. Maybe I need to figure out who the real enemy is. And if I'm going to do that, I need to give this man standing so earnestly in front of me a chance.

"Sure. I'd like that."

His answering smile could outshine the sun.

* * *

Food's tight over the next few days. Even with the addition of what Prim's been able to hunt and gather, we're still having to find creative ways to fill our stomachs.

The weather's turned cold. Bitterly cold. With the thick layer of snow, that means there's even less to forage. Everyone's got a cold now, and while Bristel's sister has made a full recovery, the rest of the Seam has come down with the sniffles. My mother's clients are happy to pay me in yarn, coal chits, old clothes, and even a few household supplies like pots, pans, and glasses. But no one gives us food or coin.

Another problem has surfaced. Aven's starting to turn up his nose at the thin broth and tesserae mush. We need money. We need supplies. I look at my last five coins nervously. Because of the cold, we've had to buy more fuel. Even the coal chits aren't enough. But Aven needs to eat.

Maybe if I go into town I can find something. Or the Hob. I might get lucky at the Hob.

But not today. The weather's too cold today. I'll go tomorrow.

Tomorrow isn't any warmer.

I'm struggling with Aven to put on his winter clothes so I can take him to Hazelle's when there's a knock at the door.

"Katniss?" Prim calls back. "It's for you!"

I manage to get one of my brother's arms into his coat and wrestle with the other.

I stop what I'm doing and whirl to see Darius standing there, a cloth-covered package held in one white-gloved hand. Aven takes the opportunity to wriggle out of his coat and dart over to Prim, lifting his arms to be picked up. I should be more annoyed but my heart's racing at the sight of the Peacekeeper's uniform. I have to remind myself the red-haired man is not going to hurt me. "D-darius!" I try not to flinch at my stammer.

The red-haired man shuffles his feet and says, "Sorry to bother you so early, but I got something for you."

I'm not sure what to say, so I just tilt my head.

He sets the package on the kitchen table and removes the protective cloth to reveal a gray and white speckled chicken.

My eyes widen. "Darius, this is too much!" Chickens are valuable here in Twelve. Only merchants and a few well-to-do Seam families own them.

"No no no, it's not anything at all! The mess hall had too many of 'em, and with this cold, we were having trouble feeding them all. Shipments are running late, trains are getting stuck. It's hard to keep the tracks clear, with all this snow. It's too much work for us and we're not a high priority district. The cold doesn't help either."

I'm sure he's not supposed to tell me all this, but it's clear he's nervous. "But… why bring the bird to me?" It doesn't make any sense.

"They were just gonna kill it, and frankly that seemed to be a waste of a good laying hen. I convinced the mess hall captain to let me take it."

All of a sudden, the bird's value skyrockets. A chicken will feed us for a meal. A laying hen will give us eggs for at least a few years. It's an amazing gift, one I can't accept. "No, really, Darius it's too much. I can't pay you-"

"Call me Dar," he interrupts.

"Dar, it's too much."

"It's a gift, Katniss. I wanted to give it to you." He blushes. "Please. Just take it."

I play with the end of my braid. "But why?"

He blushes even more. "We're friends, right? That's what friends do. It's okay for friends to give each other gifts."

"But I don't have anything to give to you."

"How about a walk? And a conversation?" He sounds almost eager. "I could do a walk and a conversation. That's worth a chicken or two, right?"

Not to me it isn't, but if that's what Darius wants, who am I to say no? I'm definitely getting the better part of the deal. There's one problem, though. "Um, I need to get to school," I remind him.

"Great! I'll walk you there." His smile is both expectant and hopeful.

"Um… okay. Prim, can you stay here and take Aven to the Hawthornes'?"

My sister nods, a little crease forming between her eyebrows.

I grab the shawl Darius gave me and wrap it around my shoulders. "So, I guess I should say thank you."

Darius flushes and rubs the back of his neck. "It was my pleasure."


	3. Chapter 3: What a Kindness is Worth

**Chapter 3: What a Kindness Is Worth**

It has been one month. One month since my father rose early like he did every day of his life, kissed my mother goodbye, traveled down into the Earth and got blown up.

And still, my mother has refused to move from her marriage bed, from the mattress where she has brought so many young babies into the world as a midwife, as well as birthing myself, Prim and Aven.

It is dark, deep night in mid-winter, when I hear a knock at the door. Pulling my nightgown and the shawl Darius gave me tight around myself, I go to answer it. When I do, I draw back in horror, a hand to my mouth. I can see the clear outline of a Peacekeeper's uniform even in darkness. But when its wearer steps into the light - one of two men on our porch - I deflate in relief. It's only Darius.

And I gasp when he introduces me to his companion. It's a medic. A _Capitol_ medic. I don't know where Darius found him, or how he ordered one. I've only ever seen them once in a blue moon, climbing up the hill to Victor's Village to administer check-ups to our lone Victor of the Hunger Games, a drunk by the name of Haymitch Abernathy.

"Can you take us to your mother, miss?" the medic asks me kindly. I nod, and usher them in, choking back a sob.

By now, Prim has woken up from the low voices in our parlor. I try to shoo her away by telling her to go check on Aven, which she does. But soon enough, she is back, pushing a dozing Aven in his mobile crib into the center of our kitchen and pretending not to study the medic's bag and supplies with a childlike curiosity. The medic notices and when he asks Primrose if she would like to be on hand as his assistant, she happily accepts. They both enter the master bedroom to attend to Mother.

Darius dutifully stands guard by the door. I busy myself by making a pot of pine leaves tea, setting the kettle to boil. I ask Darius if he would like a cup, but he politely declines. Warming my hands against the white formica of my mug, I anxiously wait.

"This is too much, Darius," I try to tell him softly. Sure. That's what I told him regarding the chicken a week or two ago. I still need to build it a henhouse, before Buttercup, Prim's cat, eats it. The beleaguered bird has been eyed like a snack ever since it arrived. Pretty soon, it won't be just the cat who sees it as plucked clean and roasting in an oven.

Darius just waves my concern away. "I filed the report, hired the medic. As I was the ranking officer made privy to Mrs. Everdeen's condition, her case will go in my folder, for my eyes only. It's in Panem's best interest that she lives. And besides..." His eyes flit almost sadly over to Aven, who by now is sitting up in his crib. He doesn't need to finish the sentence. I know what he means. The Capitol doesn't need another stolen child soldier.

It still isn't light when the medic emerges with Prim. "Give her another day of rest, and she will be back on her feet." He extends out a hand for Darius to shake. "It is good to see you again, Darius."

"Thank you, Copeland."

"But of course. Any family of Finnick Odair is family of mine." I gape. Darius hired the personal physician of his brother? The Victor Finnick Odair? That can't be above-board here in Twelve. But then again, Darius said my mother's case would be for his eyes only. He must be pretty confident word won't get out. And even if it does, Cray will probably be too grateful to care, as it's one less problem on his docket.

The medic takes his leave, and I walk Darius out into the cold. I stare up into his face disbelievingly. Gratefully.

"How can I ever thank you?"

Darius shrugs his shoulders, his long red locks falling into his easy smile. "You don't need to thank me. Not every act of kindness is worth a thanks."

I fold my arms, peering at him with a frown. "Everything is worth something, Dar. That's what I was taught."

He grins at me curiously. "What do you think this kindness is worth then, Ms. Everdeen?"

My brow furrows as I consider the question. I think of all the little things that Darius has done for me, over this past month. And especially over those two weeks after my father's death, when we first became friends. The lengths he has gone to, and not expecting anything in return - though a concept that I don't understand, and probably never will - fill me with strange gratitude and warmth. So it is that I take Darius's face in my hands. Standing up on my tiptoes, I push my lips fiercely against his.

A kiss. A kindness is worth a kiss. Saving my mother's life and ensuring my family does not go hungry is worth a long, slow, deep kiss.

Darius's lips taste like soft, warm butter, and his mouth melts into mine. I feel calloused palms encircle my waist and pull me close. He holds me gently. His big, strong hands don't wander, which I appreciate. Tilting my face, I feel his lips press against mine and deepen the kiss.

Then something tickles my mouth. I realize with a gasp and a shudder that it is Darius's tongue. "Ummmm..." My lips part with the sound and suddenly Darius's tongue is in my mouth. It feels strange, to have his tongue dancing and twining about mine. Electric shocks seem to shoot from our lips down to the tips of my toes. Feeling oddly bold, I let my chilled fingers weave themselves into his long red hair, and I pull, yanking him tighter to me with a deep, guttural groan. My hooded eyelids flutter closed. "Mmmm... Hmmmmm..."

As Darius and I embrace and kiss, I don't notice my baby sister watching us through the window, her mouth agape in shock. After several moments, Darius and I break apart with a small POP!, our arms still about each other. Puffs of air from our breaths mix and mingle in the small space between us. My eyes fill with tears.

"Thank you," I choke out through the lump in my throat.

Darius beams. "You're welcome." And cupping my face, tilting my head back, he kisses me full on the mouth again. I don't fight it, closing my eyes and enjoying the taste before he draws away. "Goodnight, Katniss."

I flush, as the full weight of what I have just done hits me in the face. I _kissed_ him! And he kissed me back. "G... goodnight," I stammer with a weak smile. I watch him amble away through the snow. Closing my front door behind me and pulling the latch to, I ignore Prim's squeals and peppering questions, instead simply snapping at her to go to bed and not breathe a word of this to Mother.

I collapse into bed in relief and almost... giddiness. That night, the chiseled face of an auburn-haired Peacekeeper dances in my head...


	4. Chapter 4: Shot Down the Aisle

**Chapter 4: Shot Down the Aisle**

After the passionate kiss we shared outside of my mother's house, I tentatively agree to a romantic relationship, allowing Darius to court me. We begin seeing each other over the course of the next six months, starting with little dates in the Hob before working our way up to passionate make-out sessions in my father's hunting cabin, deep in the woods. In that time, Darius gets promoted, to Deputy under Cray; I felt so proud when he told me.

Before long, it is summer, and I have only recently turned 17. The sun is mercilessly hot and sitting high in the sky on the day of my penultimate Reaping, which I celebrate by donning my blue Reaping dress. Mother escorts both Primrose and I to the square before the Justice Building. I am dragging a little behind, my thoughts tempestuous and elsewhere, when I feel someone grab my arm and drag me into a back alley, between some Merchant shops. I gasp, putting a hand to my mouth when I realize it is my Peacekeeper boyfriend. "Dar, what are you doing? We… Mmmmmm…." My words die in my throat as Darius pulls me close – a hand groping my bum and the other in my hair - and smashes his lips to mine in a deep, searing kiss. I swoon just a little, my Seam-grey orbs rolling into the back of my head as my eyelids flutter shut, as I enthusiastically return the kiss and deepen it. Nevertheless, when Darius releases me, I still gape at him, stunned. "What was that for?"

"For luck," Darius grins, far too pleased with himself, and I am half-tempted to kiss that smirk right off his face. "A Reaping Kiss. Now we know for sure you won't be picked."

I eye him, deeply amused. The Reaping Kiss is an old superstition in District 12. They say that if you share a kiss with someone on Reaping Day, it acts almost as an invisible safeguard, ensuring your name will be spared selection from the Bowl. Personally, I've survived my last five Reapings without engaging in some voodoo kiss. But then again, I have no reason to believe it doesn't work. "Well, thank you for the courtesy, Peacekeeper Freeman," I inform my lover prissily. "But I believe I will be just fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must meet with my mother and sister." Darius takes my hand before I turn to leave, a pleased smile gracing my very kissed lips.

"I didn't just drag you back here to kiss your beautiful face off. I wanted to ask you a question."

I raise an eyebrow at him expectantly, waiting. Darius blushes as red as his hair before his deep green eyes meet mine.

"Will you marry me?"

I gawk at him in complete astonishment. Even as I was half-expecting it, his proposal nonetheless shocks me. For one thing, he is a year too early – most Seam and Town boys wait to propose to their sweethearts until you age out of the Reaping at 18. And that's despite the fact that the age of consent in District 12 is 16, both to marry and to have sex. Plus, does Darius not remember who he is talking to? As a result of my father's death, I had quietly vowed to never get married or bear children. My lover is fortunate enough that I permitted him to woo me, to kiss me out of the blue whenever he felt like it.

"I…. I thought you said Peacekeepers aren't allowed to marry."

"We're not," Darius affirms. "But, you could come live with me. Your family too. You would be my….. life partner?"

I blink. "Life partner?"

He flushes. "It's not as seedy as it sounds. And in exchange for keeping house, and….. perhaps one day sleeping with me, I could pay you fifty coin a month." My one eyebrow arches higher in piqued interest. Darius is eyeing me hopefully. "Will you marry me, Katniss Sierra Everdeen?" I silently approve of how he proposed to me like a gentleman, using my full, given name. Nevertheless, I don't answer for a long time as I think it all over, weighing all the Pros and Cons in my head. Marrying a Peacekeeper, even a Deputy Head like Darius, is exactly the kind of economic security that my family needs, that Mother would seek for me. For a poor young Seam woman like me, there are only a few options for advancing above my station. One would have been to become a Victor of the Hunger Games (a feat that District 12 has only accomplished twice in the last 76 years, and only once by a woman). More than this, I would be the wife of a Capitol official, guaranteeing for me a level of safety that the rest of the district could only dream of. There would be no hassle in being assigned a house, as all couples must go through when getting married at the Justice Building.

However, every Pro has a Con to go with it. Darius said that he could pay me fifty a month if my family and I lived with him. And if what I have seen of the accommodations in the Barracks is any indication, I highly doubt that his officer's stipend could sustain two people, especially a husband and a wife, much less his wife's family. Besides, my trades are mostly conducted through barter; rarely am I paid coins for my kills, so I would not add to Darius's income in any meaningful way. Yes, marriage to a Peacekeeper would grant me safety, but what kind of safety is left out of my control. On the one hand, it could mean my ability to conduct my illegal hunts and trading with absolutely no fear of repercussions. On the other hand, a status as a Peacekeeper's spouse could add an extra level of scrutiny that would make such hunts all but impossible.

Then there is the issue of the Barracks. Darius may have his own house, but the Peacekeepers still practice communal living. Theirs is a militarized lifestyle with relatively few opportunities for romance or sex. Marriage for them is forbidden by higher-ups in the ranks, so most cadets abstain from marriage in favor of illegitimate couplings that more often than not result in bastard children without fathers. To have a woman in their midst, even if I would be the spoken-for wife of one of their own, would not prevent Darius's comrades from trying to have their own way with me. I may be able to one day submit to being a wife, but I would be a faithful wife. Not a trophy wife and definitely not a sex toy to be passed around or otherwise change hands. Ultimately, I would be in close proximity as a form of temptation for other men, and have little privacy outside of Darius's one abode. Perhaps not even that.

Then there are the Unknowns. Would Darius expect me to sleep with him? Surely yes; it's what spouses do. And the proposition of sex has never excited me before. Besides, sex - especially the unprotected kind - often leads to babies. Babies who grow into children who are Reaped for arenas to die. Would Darius want children? He would be free to pursue fatherhood with me – Peacekeepers must be celibate, not abstinent. Before Darius, I had never wanted children or to become a mother, for fear of losing them to the Reaping. What if Darius were reassigned to another district? If I were his wife, I would feel compelled to go with him to wherever a new commission might take him, thus leaving behind my homeland and my family. Even then, would I be allowed to accompany my husband to a new assignment? I don't know. What other difficulties would come from marrying a foreigner? For Darius is not from District 12, and our people take great pride in marrying one of our own kind, right down to class. Even marriages just between Merchant and Seam - like my parents' - are rare and frowned upon. Would I be seen even more differently in taking a husband who hails from one of the Career districts?

As I am thinking all this, I have been absent-mindedly running my fingers through Darius's hair, sizing him up. I gaze into his deep sea-green eyes. Finally, I give him a hopeful smile.

"Of course," I whisper.

Darius beams, and exuberantly picks me up and spins me around, both of us laughing. When he sets me down, we smile as we lean in and share a long kiss…

* * *

Before long, it seems, Darius and I are sharing our wedding kiss in my mother's living room, standing before the family fireplace. I am clothed in one of Mother's old Merchant dresses. It is too expensive to rent a white dress in Twelve. Only the Merchants can afford that. When my Mother left her privileged upbringing to marry my father, she did not have the bravery to smuggle her family's wedding dress away to pass down to her daughters after her. There is no white dress, but Darius does not seem to mind. No signing of the papers in the Justice Building, or commissioning of a house. Just we two, with my mother, sister and brother as witnesses. And just the feeling in our hearts.

My exuberant sister, Primrose, gets between us happily, forcing my new husband and I to break our kiss, my face flushing bright red. Smiling, I am every bit the blushing bride I once never imagined myself to be. Mother, pleased that I have now wed, dutifully applauds, and Primrose joins her. Aven lets out a happy screech, even if he is too young to understand what's going on.

I had shown Darius how to bake the pieces of bread over the fire, as is the District 12 marriage custom, and we performed our Toasting. Splitting the piece, we decided to share it, both of us stingy enough to not waste one crumb. Then, tilting my head, my Seam grey orbs dancing in the firelight, I permitted my new husband to kiss me. He ravished my mouth with his, and I leapt into his arms, folding my limbs about him.

Now able to afford the amenities, Darius shows my family to their rooms. Then, sweeping me off my feet, he carries me up the stairs and across the threshold to our room, laying my down in our marriage bed. And when he kisses me furiously, I kiss him back with just as much fire, and tear at the plates of his uniform. My spouse undresses me tenderly, shimmying me out of my blue dress. I unlatch my bra and let the lingerie fall away, so that Darius can see my breasts. My panties silkily slide down my thighs to my ankles, but the fabric doesn't constrain me from spreading my legs wide and letting the man I have married slide in between them.

Grey eyes locking with sea-green ones, I guide Darius to my dripping wet entrance. If there is any time for us to have sex, it is now. It is what is done between a husband and a wife on their wedding night.

Slowly, Darius pushes into me. I let out a tiny whine at the pain, and he stops like a gentleman. After a moment, at my nod, he starts again, pushing all the way into my core down to the hilt. He pulls out. Then he slides back in, more assuredly this time. Gradually, the motion builds up to a thrust with a rhythm. Moaning, I rock my hips up to meet his. I can feel, hear our bed, creaking and swaying beneath us.

"Hmmm... Mmmm... Muhhhhh... Uhhhhhh... Guhhhh... Oh my God... Ohhhhhhh my God... Dar..." I cry out.

Darius grunts as he picks up the pace, pounding into me faster. "You're so tight... you're so beautiful... Katniss..."

"D... Darius... Oh my Goddddddddd..." I wail. Folding my legs about him, digging my heels into his buttocks, I buck against him faster, egging him on. "Darius... please... I - I love you!"

These last words are pulled from me like water cascading from my lips, as I orgasm all around my husband with a sigh. Darius slams into me once, twice more before spurting his juices deep inside of me. He collapses on top of me with a ecstatic groan, and he moves no more.

Kissing his cheek, then his lips, gently, I hold him, running my fingers through his long red hair as I fall asleep beneath him.

* * *

Darius and I have been married for all of nine months. The spring is roaring up fast, and with the warmer weather, we feel the Reaping – my last one – approaching in just a few months' time.

One morning, Darius rises early from the bed we share, kisses my cheek and then my lips softly, before dressing in his uniform to get ready for work. Eyes heavy with sleep, I lounge and watch him load his gun, thread the weapon through the holster at his belt. Clad in a simple dressing gown, I rise languidly and pad after him down the stairs to our kitchen. I play the part of a loyal wife and fix us both breakfast, my husband kissing me and feeling me up quite audaciously as I do so.

Our passionate display of affection is interrupted by a furious knock at the door. Darius grins at my wary frown, and drops a final kiss to my lips before going to answer it. Purnia, a Peacekeeper colleague whom I know to be one of my husband's closest comrades, is standing on our front stoop, out of breath.

"Purnia! What is it, woman?" Darius stares at her, taking in the wild look in her eyes. I have never known an officer of the law to appear this panicked.

"Miner uprising…. in the square…. Come on!"

Darius looks back to me. I nod to him encouragingly, silently telling him to go. Crossing to me, Darius takes my face in his hands, and kisses me goodbye firmly on the mouth. "Mmmmmhmmmmm….." I groan a little into the kiss, which turns into a whine as we finally wrench our lips free of the kiss with a POP!

"Stay here," Darius orders me. Then, hand flicking to the holster and his gun, he takes off running after Purnia. I watch them go by the door, faithfully waiting. As a good wife should.

It is evening before someone comes by to fetch me. And it isn't Darius. A Peacekeeper cadet enters our home and quietly informs me that my husband of less than a year took heavy fire – apparently, the miners broke into the District 12 armory and got their hands on automatic weapons – and has passed away from his injuries. With a wail, I collapse to the floor. Moments later, Mother and Primrose arrive to attend to me, quietly summoned by Purnia.

I do not sleep a wink my first night as a widow, at not even 18 years of age.


	5. Chapter 5: Kisses Ensnare a Widow

**Chapter 5: Kisses Ensnare a Widow**

I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I finally attained freedom. Or, at least, as much freedom as you can get in a place like District 12, the poorest district in Panem. Older kids that I know have said you feel a certain weight lift off your shoulders once you are free of the Reaping.

For me, freedom from the Reaping and the Hunger Games has been mine for all of three days. And yet, I don't feel any different. And yet, I still feel nothing.

Gale would probably laugh at me, if I told him any of this. He's been beyond the Reaping for two years now, and is looking very much a man at the prime age of 20. He is the oldest of five children in the prominent Hawthorne brood. Works in the mines every day except for Sundays. It's a fine profession - well, almost one of the only professions available to a man in this district - but I know his widowed mother, Hazelle, won't be satisfied. She will be looking for her eldest son to further secure his future. And having seen the looks girls send his way, I know there are plenty of takers.

I won't be among them in line though. Now with my future guaranteed ahead of me, I have only become more resolved in my new vow: to never get married again. I genuinely fell in love with and married a man who loved me. And like Mother before me, the man I married is now dead. Killed in the line of duty. I wore black clothes of mourning, a shawl to cover my face at his funeral. I took Darius's white Peacekeeper armor into the backyard and bitterly burned it. I don't know what trade I will learn to support myself once I move out from the home I share with Mother and Prim in the Seam. Probably hunting, as I have always done. I can make that into a life, right? Mother might disagree, but I don't care. The cold reality is that Darius left me a small pension in his will, but that coin will dry out fast.

This bright summer's day is slightly cooler than the scorchers we saw in the days before the Reaping. It is as if the earth itself has deflated in relief along with me. The nice air brings out more animals from the longer, summer shadows, and Gale and I make a great haul and in even better time.

We are on final approach to the district fence now, chatting about preparations for next week's hunt. "I'll set the snares for next Sunday, Gale, and then we can -"

It comes out of nowhere, as Gale suddenly stops me and cuts off my ramblings, as he takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

I am completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I have spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I haven't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which can set the most intricate of snares - can as easily entrap me.

"Ermmmm..." I think I make some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I am vaguely aware of my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then, after pushing his lips more insistently against mine, Gale just as suddenly lets me go and says:

"Catnip, will you marry me?"

My flushed, ravished and very kissed lips drop open in an astonished 'O.' A proposal of marriage sounds so foreign, coming from my best friend Gale. Not to mention the way he says it just sounds all wrong. Darius's proposal was done far better, as he asked me for my hand with my full name - Katniss Sierra Everdeen - and not some childish nickname with an even more childish origin story (Catnip came about from Gale interpreting my introduction incorrectly, the day we first met).

All that aside, he just kissed me out of the blue. I unconsciously lick my lips, and try to decide how I feel about the kiss, whether I liked it or resented it. Kissing him definitely feels different from kissing Darius. One thing's for certain - kissing Gale makes me feel as though I'm kissing my brother. The conclusion is not far off. Everybody in the Seam is distantly related, in one way or another; I have been mistaken as a cousin of the Hawthornes often before. That soon is cleared up whenever my gorgeous mother and sister come into view, with their Merchant blue eyes and blonde hair and all around Aryan looks. Contrasted against them, I am very clearly Seam, favoring my late father.

And where does Gale get off asking me to marry him, anyhow? I am scarcely free of the chains that have bound me since the time I was a preteen, and now he wants to imprison me again in the bonds of holy matrimony - a sentence that I now feel is worse than a gruesome death in the Games? I thought Gale understood that tying my identity into being someone else's wife was something that I don't want. At least, not anymore.

I should slap him. For kissing a girl without her express permission. Mother taught her girls the importance of consent in all acts of love. But instead, I merely fix him with a hard stare. "No." I say it simply, and his entire face falls, struck dumb, as I turn and flounce away, wriggling under the fence.

I don't need to say more, don't need to explain. I shouldn't have to.

* * *

Gale, of course, interprets my reticence to marry as stemming more from my displeasure at the kiss, than from the proposal itself. A week later, walking me home, he stops me and merely asks to kiss me again. Curiosity gnawing at me, I nod, perhaps against my better judgment.

Gale kisses me gently, sweetly; it isn't as raw and rough as our first kiss. The taste of his pliant mouth against my hard, unyielding one still makes me hesitantly squirm somewhat, and not out of pleasure. But I suppose it could be worse. I only have Darius to compare this kiss to, and my husband was a talented kisser. Unlike some of his former comrades – I have heard that some fresh Peacekeepers like to heavily use tongue while kissing, greedily sticking their tongues down women's throats. Darius only turned to this technique when I would give my express permission. Gale does not resort to kissing with tongue at all; our lips do all the work.

Somehow, without even thinking about it or previously discussing it, we begin to part at the fence for the evening by sharing a chaste kiss, a brief peck on the lips. I would never let Gale do this in front of my house, lest my Mother becomes excited and tries to play Matchmaker for her eldest daughter. Eventually, I learn to tolerate the kisses.

* * *

Three months later, as a stubborn September signals its preference for an Indian summer, while Gale and I share a soft kiss goodnight at the fence, he asks me again:

"Katniss, will you marry me?"

I eye him skeptically, almost... amused. Even as my heart constricts with fear, while also strangely feeling as though it will be torn in two. At least he used my given name when proposing to me this time. Perhaps this is what causes me to spill the word, "Maybe?" from my throat.

I regret my equivocation almost immediately. Gale's answering smile could outshine the light of the setting sun. All over again, I feel guilty. I don't love him. At least... not yet. I think I could grow to love him. I decide to give him a chance.

"Maybe," I say again, more sure of myself this time, "after you properly court me first." Gale nods his head eagerly, and when he asks me right then and there to share a bowl of soup with him in the Hob, I readily say Yes.

* * *

Gale woos me for the better part of the next year. Spring and summer roll around again and I turn 19 in early May. Out in the Meadow, away from Mother's prying eyes and ears, Gale gives me my present: a simple gold wedding band. I can't help but feel touched at his gesture. He must have saved up weeks of his wages to buy the ring. Darius never presented me with a ring – he couldn't, largely because he was constrained by convention. Usually, only Merchants can afford jewelry and other trinkets of this value. I can say one thing: I admire the man's persistence. And his patience. In that moment, I decide to show him mercy. By slipping the ring onto my finger without fanfare and saying solemnly:

"Yes."

* * *

Three months later, in the cold of winter, Gale Hawthorne and I are married. Like in my first wedding ceremony, I wear one of Mother's old dresses from her Merchant days. We haven't enough money to rent out a white bridal gown; except for a few well-to-do miner families, most Seam folk can't afford one, either. Merchants pass down their bridal dresses as family heirlooms - an heirloom my mother forfeited when she ran off to marry my Seam father.

We conduct an initial ceremony in the Justice Building, signing our marriage license and exchanging rings and vows as we stand before a district judge. My new husband and I are assigned a house in the Seam - close to the Hob and the border leading into Town - and Gale and I move in immediately.

There, backlit against the warm fire from our blazing hearth, Gale and I perform the traditional District 12 marriage Toasting, as we toast a bit of bread and share it. I press a piece against Gale's lips, and he does the same to mine. Then, we seal our marriage with a simple kiss, the taste of bread still in our mouths. It tastes of ash, the bread, and this taste permeates into the kiss. I tell myself it's from the char, from where Gale dropped some of the bread into the fireplace before barely managing to salvage it. But my heart knows better. Knows that it's a lie. For when my second husband and I take to our marriage bed that night, it doesn't feel like home.

* * *

When Gale mounts me, I don't fight it, and I spread my legs wide for him. Wriggling against each other awkwardly and sighing out cringe-worthy groans, I tell myself it is only right and good for there to be relations between a husband and a wife. For us to make love and consummate our marriage. Darius and I had sex on our wedding night. I should observe the same tradition with my new spouse and have sex on my wedding night with Gale.

But if I had known how uncertain Gale would be in his movements, how sticky his juices would feel against my thigh, the pain his taking me would bring me, I would never have even bothered.

Now, half-naked and turned away from my snoring second husband, I frown as I realize I have no idea what all the fuss is about. At least in our lovemaking, Darius made sex feel as though it was exciting, passionate. With Gale, I feel none of that.

And though my marriage vows have supplanted my vow of chastity, though my vow of abstinence has long ago been shattered forever with my virginity, there is one vow to which I will not prove myself unfaithful.


	6. Chapter 6: Children

**Chapter 6: Children**

Gale and I celebrate our one-year anniversary of marriage quietly. I should feel a sense of relief in making it through an entire year of matrimony; Darius and I didn't get even that. In marking this solemn day, however, I still feel nothing. All the same, I fell an entire buck and prepare it for our supper that evening to mark the occasion. My husband and I take our meal silently, broken only to ask about each other's day. Our mutual murmuring of Happy Anniversary is uttered with no thought. To the outside observer, it would just seem like an ordinary evening. Gale likes to have his supper ready by the time he gets home from work in the mines. We eat, sit and read by the fire, and then retire to bed most nights, occasionally having sex if I am of the mind to.

But this evening suddenly becomes very different when I hear Gale set his spoon down purposefully. I raise my eyes to his in time to see him fixing me with a determined stare.

"I want to have children with you, Katniss. Will you have my baby?"

I am taken back to the time that he first proposed marriage to me, as my mouth drops open. My spoon drops sharply with it, slipping from my grasp to land in my broth with a PLOP that reverberates unusually loudly in the now-silent kitchen.

"No," I snap, more forcefully than I thought I could muster, as I feel my heart start to thump out of control. A panic attack is looming, and I flee upstairs without asking to be excused or even extending so much as a good night.

I sleep alone that evening. Gale never comes up to bed.

* * *

The finest quality my husband possesses is his patience. He lets six months pass without another peep about a bundle of joy. When he asks me again, the question is hurled out of nowhere, on an uneventful day with no gravitas.

"Katniss, can we please make a baby?" he asks me one quiet morning while hunting. I am so shocked that my shot goes wide while releasing the arrow from the notch, so that I miss the prized turkey completely. I turn to stare at him, and my husband turns a sheepish shade of red at the loss of the bird.

I shake my head emphatically. The answer's the same. "No, Gale."

* * *

In between his second and third suggestion of the accursed topic, Gale is less patient. He asks me to have his baby again after only two months. And it leads to my patience wearing thin, exploding in our first big fight.

It is late at night, while the rest of the district sleeps, with Gale and I yelling hoarse at each other and not budging from our entrenched positions.

"Why not? When you fall in love, you get married. And when you get married, you have children. It's natural! A woman's way!"

I scoff in deep offense at his myopically sexist view of adult and married life. Not all wives become mothers, just as not all girls become wives. And on the former point, I will not give in. I will not allow such a transformation to forever shape my body, and then my soul.

"So help me God, as long as the Games exist, as long as we can starve to death in safety, I will never bear your child into this world, Gale Hawthorne!" My voice shakes as I give my vow, but out of anger and not uncertainty.

He gapes at me like a fish, as I turn to storm away. "But I love you!" he cries.

I turn and regard him sadly. "That's not reason enough, Gale."

I spend the rest of that night curled up in my chair by the fire. Soon, a sparse blanket and a few pillows plant themselves along with me amidst the upholstery. By the time my husband and I enter Year Three of our marriage, we have formally ceased sharing a bed together. After our next anniversary - our fourth - we cease to speak.

* * *

The following spring, I flatly and unemotionally move all my things out of Gale's and my house. Gale observes me pack my things sadly, finding nothing to say that might make me change my mind. He doesn't even say goodbye, in fact. Borrowing a wagon from the Goat Man, I schlep it all one cartload at a time to my sister Prim's house, which she shares with her new husband. My baby sister's Merchant looks allowed her to rise above her station, and wed Dalton Lynchbow, the Postmaster's son. He is a kind boy. A good man, and clearly dotes on Prim. They were in the same year in school starting off as friends before gradually falling in love. Prim was hesitant at first to allow Dalton to court her, but was eventually charmed by him. At 19, she is already the perfect wife.

While at 23, I have already declared my second marriage to be an abysmal failure.

Divorce as a concept, as an institution, is illegal in Panem. But everyone knows someone who is separated. It's as common as knowing someone who died in the Games.


	7. Chapter 7: Spinster Attracts a Suitor

**Chapter 7: Spinster Attracts A Suitor**

Life goes on. Cray retires. Purnia is appointed Head Peacekeeper. Two kids get Reaped. Many more die of starvation. The Baker dies. His wife, a witch of a woman who has been known to beat her three strapping sons, remarries. His oldest son takes over the family business, and the youngest - Peeta Mellark - stays on to help. Peeta and I were in the same year in school, though we never spoke at all. An interaction between us happened once, and it was years ago, when the boy tossed bread to me in a driving rain, feeding my family when we were starving. I have never thanked him for his kindness.

But I have silently implied that I am grateful, by trading bread for squirrels with him, on the back loading dock of the Bakery. It is a policy I began with his father, and Peeta keeps up the tradition. Though I can find no way to dissuade him from giving me bread finer than his father ever did. Sometimes, the loaves feel warm in my hands, clearly fresh from the ovens.

The finer foodstuffs are helpful though in one respect. In becoming an old spinster long before my time and living under the same roof as my sister and brother-in-law, I have been able to bring these goodies back to my family. And see how healthy they are to my little Prim, who is now great with a child of her own. When she first told me she was expecting, I cursed my crude tongue when my first thought is to ask with dismay, "Why?"

Prim just shrugs, though her eyes and whole body it seems are glowing. "I've always wanted to be a mother."

I stare at her blankly. I don't understand. Though perhaps there are meant to be some ways in which my sister and I cannot relate, I still don't understand.

But I start to, once my nephew comes screaming into the world after 19 hours of hard labor, overseen by Mother. When I first hold my baby nephew in my arms, I get a glimmer of what I'm missing. A glimmer that maybe I no longer want it to be missing. But the want - however new - is not enough to overcome the fear. It's not worth the pain. Babies are born only to be fated to die in the arena, at the hands of the Reaping.

It is clear, from the love in her eyes, my sister does not share this view. And apparently, neither does Leevy Hatfield, the tanner's daughter. Two years after I leave him, Leevy moves in with Gale, the man who is still - in the eyes of the law - my lawfully wedded husband. I see her swollen and pregnant one day in the Hob not six months later. Their baby is born in mid-June, after a particularly disastrous Reaping. Mother and Primrose attend to the birth, and with nothing else to do, I have no choice but to tag along. The baby girl has Leevy's hair, but Gale's Seam-gray eyes. They could have been my eyes...

All the same, I turn to the man I married and I say with all sincerity, "Congratulations, Gale. I'm happy for you."

Gale smiles sadly. "Thank you, Catnip."

They're the first words we have exchanged in over three years.

* * *

The fall leaves swish around my ankles, a soft wind whipping them up as I head through Town with my game bag one afternoon. I got a late start to the woods this morning - the baby kept me up last night. I know it's not little Sorrel's fault, he's teething, but all the same I would have liked to have started earlier, and probably would have done better on kills if I had.

I approach the Bakery's back loading dock - my last stop of the day before returning home. The Hob is closed up during the afternoon hours before re-opening in the evening; thankfully, I got all my trades in there just before the black market folded up. I knock on the metal purposefully, the sound leaving an echo ringing through the alleyway. As predicted, a mop of blonde hair opens it a few moments later. A wide smile.

"Katniss! There you are! I was afraid you had taken ill or something!" The baker's concern for me makes me turn a slight shade of red, but I shrug it off as I open my game bag to show him my kills. He picks one squirrel up to inspect it, whistling low. "Right in the eye, every time," he praises. I flush again. I didn't even think he noticed a little detail like that. Then again, why shouldn't he? I've traded with him often enough.

"These'll do," he informs me with a smile. "Wait here." He disappears into the front of the shop for a moment, then comes back, with four loaves of bread tucked in his apron, passing them into my arms. "Sorry they aren't fresh - those all sold out quickly this morning, but we've had a lull since the lunch rush."

I shrug. "These will be fine. Thanks, Peeta." In truth, I have never been comfortable with him bartering off freshly baked bread to me, ones that I know have come fresh from the oven. And I have a feeling his mother would not either, if she knew, which she likely doesn't.

Peeta stuffs his hands in his pockets. "It's not fine to me," he mumbles, and I blink, certain I have misheard him. He dares to meet my eyes again. "Could I at least make it up to you with a walk back to your place? Leven has control of the front; he won't miss me."

I eye him skeptically, almost bemused. "Is this a date?" I demand, a little too harshly.

Peeta laughs awkwardly, his face suddenly bashful. "Only if you want it to be."

I subtly lean back a little, my face in a tight frown. "I don't do dates," I tell him flatly, warily. "And I don't do walks."

"That's fine," Peeta placates. "I totally understand. You've probably gotta get home to your sister anyway. See you, Katniss."

"Bye," I echo lamely as the loading dock door closes behind me.

I start off for home, my mind swirling. Did Peeta Mellark really just ask me out? He didn't confirm it when I confronted him about it (I wince now at how rude that was of me)... but he didn't deny it either. In any case, shouldn't he know that I am still technically married? No, of course I shouldn't expect that of him - the whole damn district knows by now that Gale and I are separated. That it is Leevy Hatfield and not I who is the mother of his child. Whether the eyes of the law want to admit it or not, I am very much available. Single. On the market and a taste for many men, Peeta Mellark included.

* * *

I don't hold Peeta's asking me out against him though. I continue our trades with him. I had a whole speech planned out at first, telling him that while I am flattered, I am not looking for a husband or to get married again, as my first marriage ended so horribly. But the words and my courage quickly fall out of my head, and I just as quickly learn to forget about the moment.

That didn't work in regards to Gale's and my first kiss then. And it doesn't work now.

I make a good haul one evening a week or two later, so much in fact that it takes me two trips to the Hob - one morning and one evening - to sell it all. The poor baker's squirrels are relegated to the last trade of the day, and I hurry to the back loading dock, a plethora of apologies on my tongue. Peeta looks equally as harried when he greets me.

"I'm sorry; I lost track of time and I didn't..."

"It's all right, Katniss," he says kindly, as we make our usual transaction of squirrels and bread. "I'm sorry I'm so out of it, we're just sitting down to eat." A sudden thoughts strikes him. "Hey, would you like to stay for dinner? It's getting dark and looks like a storm's moving in."

I blink at him, and in that moment of silence, my traitorous brain actually takes time to consider his offer. A sharp thump of my heart against my ribcage snaps me out of it, and pursing my lips tightly, I shake my head.

"No, thank you. Prim's waiting on me with supper. And besides..." I soften the blow by studying him, amused, "I don't think your mother would like that very much."

Peeta chuckles a little. "No, perhaps not. But I can handle her. I don't care about Merchant or Seam, Katniss - I never have."

I blink at him in surprise, touched by his progressiveness. "Thank you," I say quietly, almost effortlessly. "That's really... sweet." And I start a brisk run for home before I do something reckless.

Like... kiss him.

I arrive at home about ten minutes later.

"Primrose?" I call, stepping into the house. "I got the bread!"

"Good, Katniss!" Prim turns away from our simmering supper to accept them. "How is Peeta?"

I start, gaping at her, and Prim wrinkles her nose in confusion. "You trade with him every day, Katniss. You did see him, yes?"

"He asked to have dinner with me," I blurt out almost stupidly. "Or, me with him, I guess, I don't know. And the week before last, he asked to walk me home. It sounded like a date."

Prim's eyes widen and she dumps the loaves onto the counter, taking my hand with a squeal. I have never liked my sister's insatiable need for gossip, especially where it concerns me and my love life. When I first told her that Gale kissed me in the woods, her scream of delight nearly woke the whole Seam. "What did you say?"

I frown at her. "No, of course."

Prim gasps, looking a little hurt, put-out. "Why?" she whines, dismayed, sounding like a child.

I stare at her, my mouth opening and closing like a fish, searching for an answer. Any one would do: I'm still legally married. I don't want to get married again. I was tired. But instead, all I can manage under my sister's scrutinizing gaze is a weak "I... I don't know."

* * *

I dream of him that night.

Of course, I just had to dream about him - a dream in which we are married. Together. And... we have a child. In a world where such a child could be safe.

It's a nice dream. A lovely dream. A really, really, really _good_ dream.

I wake up the next morning frazzled. But also determined. Rising from my bed, I dress in my blue Reaping frock and do up my hair in the single braid running down my back. I then march with purpose across Town, right up to the Bakery. As I approach, I see him at a distance, through the window. First one to rise, it seems. Like the bread he will be bringing out of the ovens. Something else starts to rise, a part of me, and I do my best to tamp it down, flustered.

I knock on the door - the front door this time - before I lose my nerve. When Peeta opens it, he looks as shocked as I feel to find me there.

"Katniss? You sure are up early," he says it with a chuckle in his voice, searching around me for my game bag.

"Come watch the sunset with me tonight," I blast out, heat blooming over my cheeks. I self-consciously run my fingers through my braid. "I... I know a great place. Pick me up at the Lynchbows' house."

Peeta looks positively delighted by my offer. Indeed, the smile on his face is blinding. "Sure. I'd love that."

"Good," I say shortly, and it falls flat. Hot and bothered, I can think of nothing else to do but race back for home, to prepare myself for the day's hunt.


	8. Chapter 8: Divorceé Accepts a Suitor

**Chapter 8: Divorceé Accepts a Suitor**

Peeta comes to collect me that evening in front of my sister's house. Clad in my hunting gear and a warm scarf, I lead the curious Baker up to the district fence. He appears unsure for the first time as he watches me wriggle under it, knowing he will have to as well. But then, it is gone again, and he trustingly follows me under the fence, and we make across the snow-covered Meadow for the woods.

Flurries come down at a steady pace as our boots crunch the white powder underfoot. Crossing through the underbrush, we eventually come to a hill, overlooking the lake beside which rests my father's old hunting cabin. I've never taken anyone else here. Not even Gale, before we were married, or after. The sun is just finishing its descent into the sky, a sliver of it already touching the earth via the mountains beyond.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I breathe to no one in particular.

Peeta smiles. "Lovely. Just lovely." He shoots me sly, curious grin. "But why did you ask me?"

I turn to face him fully, glancing him up and down. After a moment of thought, I declare, "Because I owed you." And I did. It's repayment on a debt that's long overdue. For the bread when we were children.

The sun finally sets, coating us in a light darkness. A baffled Peeta is clearly about to ask what I meant by my comment, when the wind suddenly picks up. The flurries swirl and plummet down harder.

"Blizzard!" I cry, cursing my foolishness for being caught out in the middle of one after dark. "Let's go!" Taking Peeta's hand (and ignoring the odd jolt of electricity that shoots through me at our touch), I guide him down the hill, past the lake and we barricade ourselves inside Daddy's hunting cabin. I have never stayed in it during a snowstorm before. Will the structure hold up against the snow and wind? I guess we'll find out, one way or another.

Peeta and I pause to catch our breath, panting. I start to reconnoiter the inside of the abode... and nearly tumble to the ground as I slip suddenly. Patch of ice. I yelp, but before I keel over, warm hands brace and catch me. Peeta and I stumble back into the wooden wall, our arms about each other for purchase.

"You all right?" he asks me.

"Yeah, black ice. I'll clear it after it's light." I give him a shaky, weak smile. "Thank you, Peeta." I show my gratitude without a thought.

"You're welcome, Katniss," he accepts, also without a thought.

Then, with a light smile, we both lean in and share a chaste kiss on the lips without a thought. When we break apart, far too many thoughts are in my head for me to move. Peeta must feel the same way; he looks like someone hit him in the head with a rolling pin.

"I... I don't know what came over me. I mean, look at us, we're 26 years old and you'd think we've never kissed people before! I ... me... you..." His voice trails off, and something appears in his eyes that I've never seen before. It is similar to how Gale used to look at me, only... better. About as wonderful as how Darius used to look at me. I simply watch him innocently, expectantly, and his blue eyes smolder. "You're _gorgeous_," he breathes out.

My breath hitches, and then I giggle - actually _giggle_. No one has ever called me that before. Dar always called me beautiful, but not gorgeous. Gale certainly never did.

And I certainly have never rewarded a statement like that by pushing a man up against the wall and kissing him more passionately, the way I do with Peeta now. Then a second kiss. Then a third, and fourth. Little, desperate pecks as snow flurries swirl around us, but I don't feel the cold. Peeta kisses me back just as fiercely, as I lazily drape one arm about his neck and close my eyes with a sigh. "Mmmmmmm..." His kisses fuel a hunger within me, and I think I will never be full. No matter how many times Peeta and I can't resist sharing just one more kiss. Then another. And another after that.

After about ten minutes of openly kissing, we finally get a hold of ourselves, drawing tenderly apart, panting.

"I love you," Peeta confesses to me fiercely, and I know he speaks true. I know he is true in his love.

And to my shock, I find I also speak the truth when the following words are drawn from my kissed lips, tumble from them like water: "I know. I love you too."

* * *

From that lovely first date on, I become a regular visitor at the Mellark Bakery, graduating from making trades on the loading dock in the back to helping out, on an informal basis, in the front of the store. Though she never voices the thought aloud, Peeta's mother makes it crystal clear that she doesn't approve of the idea. But she is no longer in charge of the bakery. Peeta's brother, Leven, is. And Peeta is taking on more and more leadership roles himself. Peeta seems surprised that other than some clear body language and silent disdain, his mother largely leaves me alone.

"I think she's afraid of you," he admits to me one evening, after we've closed up shop and we are kneading dough while alone together.

I throw back my head and trill out a laugh. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it. I think Paula Mellark's finally met her match."

I shrug. "Doesn't mean she has to like it. To her, I'm just Seam."

"And when has that ever gotten you down before?" Peeta smiles at me easily, admiringly, as I turn about in his arms from where his hands have been overlaying mine and guiding my kneading work.

I beam up at him flirtatiously. "As long as you're here... it won't." My eyelids grow heavy as Peeta draws me closer. Our lips soon meet in a passionate kiss that quickly spirals out of control, with Peeta bending me back over the counter. It's usually at a place like this where one of us has enough foresight to suggest that we stop. Only I don't want to stop. And from the way Peeta is brazenly groping me, he doesn't either.

The bell must have tinkled (neither of us hears it), for we soon are made aware of the clearing of a throat. It's certainly not mine - my throat is currently filled with Peeta's plundering tongue. We keep kissing.

"Ahem!"

Peeta and I take our own sweet time breaking apart, our arms still around each other, though we both permanently flush when we realize it is Peeta's mother who has caught us. Peeta gives her a sheepish grin, as if she has just caught his hand stuck in the cookie tin. "Sorry, Mother." He shrugs almost fruitlessly, as if to say _I can't help it_. And he can't. He's in love.

Paula Mellark says nothing else. She merely eyes us curiously, laced with some lingering displeasure, before throwing up her hands, placing a package on a customer table, and takes her leave out the front. Despite the tinkling bell, I think I hear her mutter, "ruin of the family... they deserve each other..."

Peeta winces apologetically. "We should probably finish up..." He yelps, startled, when I suddenly flip us both and pin him to the counter, bending him over at the waist.

"I'm not done with you yet," I growl huskily. And then, cupping his face, I dip my head to ravish his mouth with mine. Pretty soon, Peeta responds in kind, his arms encircling me, and then picking me up. Sweeping me off my feet, my arms limp around his neck, he carries me away, down into the basement storeroom of the bakery...

* * *

The thunder crashes ominously overhead, mixed with a heavy, driving rain.

But down in bakery storeroom, by the light of a single bulb, the only sound that I can hear is the smacking of Peeta's and my lips as we kiss. The slapping of our sweaty bodies as we undulate, moaning, learning together.

"Uhhhhh... Huhhhh... Mmmmm... Hmmmmm... Mmmhmmmmm... Ooooooh... Peeta..."

Peeta has me up against the wall, making sweet love to me as his thrusts drive the bite of the bricks into the small of my back. I don't feel its sting, though. I only feel the loving attentions of this man as his glorious member slides in and out of my dripping wet pussy.

Peeta soon mouthes down to my cheeks, down to my jawline. Eyes drooping shut, my irises roll into the back of my head from the pleasure.

"Oh my..."

"Oh yes..."

"Oh myyyyyyy..." My voice comes out somewhere between a whimper and wail.

"Oh yes..."

"Ooooohhhh... Hmmmm... Peeta..." Seizing his face in my hands, I take his mouth ravenously, ramming my tongue down his throat. We thrust and rock against each other, faster and faster. Wherever Peeta touches, it is like a flame warms me, though it does not burn. It merely heats my skin in a way that I now crave. I know that soon, if Peeta keeps this up, it is something I can no longer withstand without losing complete control of myself. I only wish for him to touch me like this forever.

I spring my lips away from his and mouth desperately along his face, down to the sharp curve of his jaw. I work my way to his neck, and then up to nip at his earlobe as I hiss impulsively:

"If we get married, you can't _ever_ tell me what to do."

Our lovemaking slows suddenly, then hits a lull, as Peeta pulls back to gaze at me in disbelief. Suddenly feeling quite shy, I dip my eyes away, calmly playing with a button of his shirt that I just want to push off his shoulders, but couldn't find the focus to in our haste to undress each other. I consider what I will say next thoughtfully, methodically, calling up a clear practicality.

"And I won't have children. I don't want children. Not as long as there are still Hunger Games. Babies are something to love only to become something to lose at the Reaping."

"I understand," Peeta whispers, still looking like he's in shock. And despite his haze, I know he does.

"I can hunt whenever I want. Prim and Dalton and Sorrel can visit us. And I can't promise I'll be civil to your mother."

I watch Peeta through my lashes anxiously after I finish. I have delivered the terms for this potential marriage. The ball is now in his court. Smiling encouragingly, I loop my arms lazily about his neck. "Go ahead, then," I smirk. "Ask me."

"Ask what?" he breathes stupidly.

I smile deeper. "Ask me to marry you. Propose."

Peeta finally gets a hold of himself enough to look me in the eyes and wonder, "Katniss Sierra Everdeen, will you marry me?"

I beam, pleased at how well he delivered his proposal. My happy expression shifts into a smirk as I ponder, "Hmm. Haven't gone by that name in a while." When he gapes at me, I laugh and I kiss him. "Yes," I say simply.

Euphoric, Peeta kisses me deeply on the mouth and spins us around, so we go tumbling to the storeroom floor. Rolling around in each other's embrace and groaning, we keep kissing, surrounded by flour and baking supplies. But mostly the flour. Soon, I am covered in flour. It is in my hair. On my clothes. On my skin. In the dripping wet folds that make me a woman, deposited there like pollen as Peeta's manhood pounds in and out of me, giving me the best damn sex I have ever, _ever_ had. Better than even the sex I had with my first husband. And miles better than the painfully awkward sex I had with my second husband.

I finally understand what all the fuss is about.


	9. Chapter 9: Old Maid Takes a Husband

**Chapter 9: Old Maid Takes a Husband**

Peeta and I hold our Toasting the following autumn. The only witnesses are Prim, Dalton, Mother, and Sorrel. Peeta's brothers. The Witch makes an appearance, though leaves after the ceremony is over, bailing on the reception. Although she seems to accept that I am not going anywhere.

I wear my blue Reaping dress to our Toasting. I feel sad that Peeta and I are forbidden from standing before the district judge and exchanging vows there. I want to be married to this man in the eyes of the law. But in the eyes of the law, Gale is still technically my husband. I will have to be satisfied with this. Besides, I have already gained the experienced of marrying in secret before. My first marriage to Darius was only sanctioned by a passionate kiss and a toasted piece of bread. So perhaps it is only fitting that I wed in secret to embark upon my third marriage. It is staggering, unfathomable, to me. Thrice have I become a lawfully wedded wife. Thrice have I exchanged vows of marriage, and entered a union of holy matrimony. I hope never to do so again.

Roasting the bread over the fire in the back of the Bakery, Peeta and I share it. The bread is dark, rich. Full of nuts and fruit. It tastes like heaven when Peeta presses a piece against my lips, feeding it to me. But what really tastes like heaven is his mouth, as it conquers mine to seal our marriage with a wedding kiss. My solemn Seam gray eyes, dancing in the firelight, close happily as I tilt my head to deepen it.

The next day, with the help of my brother-in-law Dalton, I move into the Bakery. It smells like home. As we settle into married life, Peeta bakes. I hunt. The Games continue.

* * *

About a decade into my third marriage, I am struck with horror when Peeta returns to my sickbed the summer morning of the Reaping, his toned chest heaving with news and his eyes wild with fright. I had taken ill with a fever the night before, and mercifully got an exemption from Purnia to skip the mandatory programming. Now, from what my husband frantically tells me, I am glad I did. Even gladder am I that Peeta and I agreed never to have children.

For Sadie Hawthorne, the thirteen-year-old daughter of my first husband, has been Reaped for the 95th Annual Hunger Games.

She doesn't even make it past the Bloodbath - the boy from Four ruthlessly brings an axe down on her head. She is buried, along with her district partner, in the Tributes' Graveyard, out back of the Victor's Village. Haymitch Abernathy presides over the ceremony, in a drunken stupor, just as he does every year. After the service, seeing Gale and Leevy standing off by themselves, I approach, Wordlessly, Gale wraps me in a hug.

"I finally understand," he whispers in my ear brokenly. "Why you never wanted to have children."

I draw back. "You do?"

He nods sadly. "Take care of yourself, Catnip."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "You too."

* * *

Twenty years pass. Childless and eventually barren, I grow old with grace and Peeta by my side. I have never, never been so happy. Our days are filled baking bread in the bakery, the nights filled with hot, raw sex in our marriage bed in our apartment loft above the store. I am a doting aunt to my nieces and nephews from the Mellark side, though I privately maintain that my sister's babies are my favorite ones.

Eventually, however, the dull ache of pain visits me like a long-lost friend one morning, when an earth-shattering BOOM rouses me from Peeta's and my bed. A mine explosion. A big one. And indeed, when I don my shawl and hike across the Seam to investigate, I discover that District 12 has not seen a catastrophe like this in close to 50 years. Not since my father died. Since Gale's father died.

And with horror, the Foreman takes me aside and quietly informs me that my "husband" - my first husband - has perished in the explosion.

I'm free. I can't believe it. I'm free. After over thirty years legally married by law to one man, while married in my heart to another, I am finally free. Free to pronounce my name and lover openly. But this hardly registers for me. I mourn for the loss of my legal husband, but Gale's death does not incapacitate me. Not in the way that Peeta's death would ruin me.

A few days after the funeral, I approach Gale and Leevy's home - what used to be Gale's and my home - in the Seam. I rap on the door lightly and wait. Leevy emerges wearing black clothes of mourning, a dark veil draped over her face. Her eyes are sunken in and dimmed, her frame gaunt. She is all alone. Quietly, without fanfare, I hand her a bag full of coin. The District 12 government sent the compensation and family benefits ironically to the bakery, since I am technically the designated beneficiary in the event of Gale's death. I did not feel right taking it.

"This belongs to you," I declare to her. And really, it does. Leevy takes the money from me meekly.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "But Katniss," and she looks strangely guilty. "You were his wife."

"No," I smile at her sadly. "_You_ were his wife. I haven't been Gale Hawthorne's wife in over 25 years."

"True," Leevy concedes. "But you _are_ the Baker's wife," and she actually smiles knowingly as my face turns red. With the heat blooming on my cheeks more acutely, I glance away, picking at some lint on my dress. A pause and then: "He is good to you?"

I swallow the lump in my throat, blink back my eyes full of tears, as I am moved to remember how much Peeta loves me. "Yes. He is a kind man. A decent, wonderful, generous man. He... he understands me."

Leevy picks up on the unsaid subtext without offense, merely nodding her head sympathetically. "I'm happy for you," and I can tell she is genuine. "Take care, Katniss."

I grin shakily back. "You too, Leevy."

* * *

On the morning of my fiftieth birthday, I rise, don a rented white dress, and walk with my head held high to the Justice Building to meet my husband.

Standing before the district clerk and judge, Peeta and I exchange rings and vows, pledging our lives and love to each other so that our union may be upheld and recognized in the eyes of the law. Putting a pen to the marriage license, I sign my new name for the first time, becoming lawfully Mrs. Katniss Mellark. My full name is Katniss Sierra Everdeen Freeman Hawthorne Mellark. I have taken the name of three men in my lifetime; I am certain that Peeta shall be the last man with whom I share my name and our marriage bed.

That night, when Peeta and I make love and consummate our marriage for the second time in over three decades, we both cry tears of joy.

"You love me?" Peeta breathes, resting his forehead against mine.

I beam at him and lightly peck my husband's lips in a simple kiss. "Always."


End file.
